Ere he could speak, his mother put out her hand, and not rudely, but very coldly, repelling Christie's arm, said in a freezing manner:
"We are much obliged to you, but my son's own talents have rescued him from his little embarrassment."
"A nobleman has bought my picture," said Gatty, proudly.
"For one hundred and fifty pounds," said the old lady, meaning to mark the contrast between that sum and what Christie had in her hand.
Christie remained like a statue, with her arms extended, and the bank-notes in her hand; her features worked--she had much ado not to cry; and any one that had known the whole story, and seen this unmerited repulse, would have felt for her; but her love came to her aid, she put the notes in her bosom, sighed and said:
"I would hae likeit to hae been the first, ye ken, but I'm real pleased."
"But, mother," said Gatty, "it was very kind of Christie all the same.
Oh, Christie!" said he, in a tone of despair.
At this kind word Christie's fortitude was sore tried; she turned away her head; she was far too delicate to let them know who had sent Lord Ipsden to buy the picture.
While she turned away, Mrs. Gatty said in her son's ear:
"Now, I have your solemn promise to do it here, and at once; you will find me on the beach behind these boats--do it."
The reader will understand that during the last few days Mrs. Gatty had improved her advantage, and that Charles had positively consented to obey her; the poor boy was worn out with the struggle--he felt he must have peace or die; he was thin and pale, and sudden twitches came over him; his temperament was not fit for such a battle; and, it is to be observed, nearly all the talk was on one side. He had made one expiring struggle--he described to his mother an artist's nature; his strength, his weakness--he besought her not to be a slave to general rules, but to inquire what sort of a companion the individual Gatty needed; he lashed with true but brilliant satire the sort of wife his mother was ready to see him saddled with--a stupid, unsympathizing creature, whose ten children would, by nature's law, be also stupid, and so be a weight on him till his dying day. He painted Christie Johnstone, mind and body, in words as true and bright as his colors; he showed his own weak points, her strong ones, and how the latter would fortify the former.
He displayed, in short, in one minute, more intellect than his mother had exhibited in sixty years; and that done, with all his understanding, wit and eloquence, he succumbed like a child to her stronger will--he promised to break with Christie Johnstone.
When Christie had recovered her composure and turned round to her companions, she found herself alone with Charles.
"Chairles," said she, gravely.
"Christie," said he, uneasily.
"Your mother does na like me. Oh, ye need na deny it; and we are na together as we used to be, my lad."
"She is prejudiced; but she has been the best of mothers to me, Christie."
"Aweel."
"Circumstances compel me to return to England."
(Ah, coward! anything but the real truth!)
"Aweel, Chairles, it will no be for lang."
"I don't know; you will not be so unhappy as I shall--at least I hope not."
"Hoow do ye ken that?"
"Christie, do you remember the first night we danced together?"
"Ay."
"And we walked in the cool by the seaside, and I told you the names of the stars, and you said those were not their real names, but nicknames we give them here on earth. I loved you that first night."
"And I fancied you the first time I set eyes on you."
"How can I leave you, Christie? What shall I do?"
"I ken what I shall do," answered Christie coolly; then, bursting into tears, she added, "I shall dee! I shall dee!"
"No! you must not say so; at least I will never love any one but you."
"An' I'll live as I am a' my days for your sake. Oh, England! I hae likeit ye sae weel, ye suld na rob me o' my lad--he's a' the joy I hae!"
"I love you," said Gatty. "Do you love me?"
All the answer was, her head upon his shoulder.
"I can't do it," thought Gatty, "and I won't! Christie," said he, "stay here, don't move from here." And he dashed among the boats in great agitation.
He found his mother rather near the scene of the late conference.
"Mother," said he, fiercely, like a coward as he was, "ask me no more, my mind is made up forever; I will not do this scoundrelly, heartless, beastly, ungrateful action you have been pushing me to so long."
"Take care, Charles, take care," said the old woman, trembling with passion, for this was a new tone for her son to take with her. "You had my blessing the other day, and you saw what followed it; do not tempt me to curse an undutiful, disobedient, ungrateful son."
